


The Blood of an Honest Woman

by medusine



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Shapeshifting, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15778356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medusine/pseuds/medusine
Summary: After the events of Charlestown, the vampire known as Miranda needs to be restored to her full health - and she knows just the person who can do it.





	The Blood of an Honest Woman

The shot to the head had been… disconcerting.

Miranda was rather particular about her bodily form. Some of her kin lent it little importance, made their body undergo extreme abuse, all in the name of a little thrill. That wasn't Miranda's way, though. The pain, the wound, the betrayal had shocked her into corpse-like rigidity. Sunlight added to the discomfort, draining what little strength she had left as Ashe exposed her to the townspeople.

She watched as James burst into violent rage and rained death and destruction onto Charlestown. She watched, but she could not move a muscle. Her soul lived, but her body was still as stone. She who had encouraged this violence found no pleasure in it, so deadened was her body.

Only when fires rose and black smoke covered the sun and cannons threatened to topple the place did Miranda regain enough strength to make her way out. There was blood everywhere in town, but she would rather die than drink from these people. After one last sneering glance at Peter Ashe's bloody remains, she closed her eyes and let herself be darkness. Her corporeal form dissolved into a dark smoke, making for the heavens alongside the fumes from the destroyed town.

She rose and rose into the sky, and let herself be carried on the winds, formless, lifeless, senseless. Only one thing helped her find her way back to Nassau – the image of white skin, dark hair, deep brown eyes. Her dearly beloved pet.

Miranda didn't feed off James. He needed all of his life-blood, all of his strength to wage the war that they had undertaken. The blood of other men, men of lesser potential than her James, barely drew her interest. It was usually bland, like Pastor Lambrick's, lacking both depth and substance. Sometimes, though, it was repulsive, filled with putrid violence.

The blood of women tasted sweeter to Miranda's tongue, rich and arousing. She had savoured a few conquests on Nassau, but never had she returned so often to one woman than she had to Idelle. A whore, yes, but one of hidden depths. There were virtues there, buried under her uncouth manner. Loyalty, kindness, understanding. Miranda was in dire need of these qualities, after everything she had endured in Charlestown.

It was night when she reached Nassau, though Miranda did not know how long she had travelled – days, weeks, months perhaps. Idelle's window was open, and Miranda found her alone, sitting at her dressing table in nothing but a red silk robe, brushing her hair. Miranda slid into the room, dark and nebulous, slowly taking a mortal's shape again.

“Mistress?” Idelle had a sixth sense for Miranda's arrival, as though she were always waiting. She spoke without even looking toward Miranda. “I didn't exp–” Idelle let out a gasp, covering her mouth, when she turned around and saw Miranda. “What happened to your face?”

“I was shot,” Miranda replied tersely. And now she was truly parched.

“Can I help?” Idelle asked, coming closer. She was so pale her veins painted bluish patterns on her hands, her throat, her breasts. Watching her milky white skin was an exercise in self-control for Miranda.

“I need to drink,” Miranda told her. Her fangs were lengthening already, thirst aching in her throat.

“Right, sure.” Idelle took Miranda's hand, ever so gentle, and led her to the bed.

“I might need–” Miranda tried to steady herself as she followed Idelle. She felt weak. “I might need more than usual.”

“That's all right.” Idelle's eyes were still fixed on hers, wide, concerned. “I'm strong, I can take it.”

As if to prove it, Idelle lay down onto the bed, letting her gown fall open. Her thighs parted, an invitation that Miranda could barely resist. Miranda lowered herself onto the bed, her body heavy as a stone, feeling just as cold. Slowly, very slowly, she slid into Idelle's arms, pressing her bodice against Idelle's soft breasts, finding the pulse at Idelle's throat with her lips.

The temptation to bite into the artery was stronger than ever before. It would be deadly for Idelle, Miranda knew it, but its pulse was there, right under her lips, mouth-watering. The life-force Miranda so badly needed was right there…

Idelle found her hand, and entwined their fingers. Miranda slowly took in the sensation, the heat of Idelle's palm against hers, and her mind cleared. She had controlled herself for many years, and would do so again today.

Shifting a little towards the back of Idelle's throat, Miranda found the jugular and gently bit into it. Idelle moaned and thrust up her hips against Miranda's, twining one of her thighs around Miranda's waist.

“Yes,” she whined softly. “Mistress, yes, please.”

As she began to drink from Idelle, exhausted and still repulsed by the world and its mortals, Miranda felt no particular pleasure – only the hot blood lazily trickling out of the vein and into her mouth. Idelle, on the other hand, was already intoxicated by the pleasure of Miranda's bite. Her body writhed up, grinding into Miranda's, nipples hard, breath quick.

It was only when Idelle's blood began to run through Miranda's veins, warming her, that her senses awoke and she began taking pleasure in the precious drink she was being given. Little by little, it all came to her: the scent of Idelle's arousal, the salty metallic taste of her blood, the delicious moans she gave, the way her fingers curled into the nape of Miranda's neck, squeezing her close.

Desire rose in Miranda now, blooming between her thighs, filling her lower belly. She sucked harder at the bite wound, greedy, running her tongue over the holes she had pierced into that perfect alabaster skin. She drank deep, feeling her hands warm, her face flush. Beneath her, Idelle's breath had quickened, her body writhed and trembled. Miranda slid her hands under her skirt, up her inner thighs, and Idelle let out a keening moan.

When Miranda's fingers slid into Idelle's cunt, when she sucked a little harder still at her vein, Idelle bucked beneath her and came with a drawn out moan, clenching and clenching around Miranda's fingers. Her pleasure hummed right through her blood, and although Miranda hadn't realised she'd been close to the edge, the taste of Idelle's ecstasy sent her over. Her climax took her by surprise, rushing through her, pulsing with Idelle's heartbeat, filling her veins.

By the time Miranda pressed kisses on the two puncture wounds, making them close and fade, Idelle was pale and exhausted. She grinned up at Miranda, listless but drunk with pleasure. Miranda kissed Idelle's lips, then. That kiss tasted as sweet as her blood.

“It's gone,” Idelle said, languidly running her fingers along Miranda's forehead. “Did I do well, Mistress?”

“You did, my sweet,” Miranda replied, kissing her again softly. “But now you must rest.”

Idelle did as she was asked, curling up with her cheek against Miranda's shoulder. Miranda lay there beside her, thoughts sliding through her mind like storm clouds pushed like the wind. Soon, she would find James, and they would wage war on the world. Soon, she would show mortals what suffering truly meant.

But now, now she was filled with other things. The warmth of Idelle, not only her body or her blood, but her tenderness and caring. Miranda closed her eyes, and allowed herself to savour what was still good about this world.


End file.
